


Role-Playing

by orphan_account



Category: Star Ocean: Till the End of Time
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-19
Updated: 2010-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-14 12:48:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15389088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Albel and Fayt discuss video games.AlFayt if you squint?





	Role-Playing

              Albel tried to hide it, but Fayt could tell he was completely on edge. Albel on a spaceship was a wolf out of its natural habitat, and he kept freaking out at little things, like the sound the food dispenser made when it synthesized material – and let's not even talk about the bidet in the washroom.

              And Fayt was not surprised at all that he was relegated to Albel-handling duty. Nobody else seemed to want to get within a few meters of him, and Albel certainly wasn't trying to dispel any of the crew's fears. He'd threatened to cut the fingers off anyone who bumped into him in the hallway, and everyone seemed to be taking him at his word.

              But Fayt was starting to be able to read through Albel and his tricks (he was kind of transparent in some ways, it was just that most people didn't notice as they were too busy running away screaming). He popped into Albel's room one evening to tell him that he'd worked the food dispenser to make some food that Albel was a bit more used to (not that Fayt was expecting to get any thanks out of it) and was greeted by Albel's sword to his throat and a wave of searing heat that wafted out of the room and into Fayt's face.

              Fayt didn't budge an inch; he trusted Albel not to cut him (and Albel knew that Fayt trusted him, even if he thought Fayt was insane for doing so). And sure enough, Albel lowered his sword as soon as he identified the intruder and stalked back to the panel at his desk where it appeared he had been sitting until Fayt came into the room. Fayt pulled at his collar; it was really boiling hot in here.

              “Jumpy today?” Fayt commented, moving to stand behind Albel as the man in question plopped himself back onto the chair at his desk and began giving the holographic screen in front of him a death glare.

              “This infernal machine is broken,” Albel snapped, crossing his arms over his chest.

              There were about twelve windows open on the screen in front of Albel, with their contents ranging from a game of cards to information on the ship's engine. Most importantly, though, was the one with the temperature controls.

              In one sense, it was rather admirable that Albel, who had never used a computer before in his life, had actually figured out how to turn the computer on, use the touch screen controls and open all these windows. In another sense, Fayt had to wonder how much of an idiot he had to be to not figure out that you turn temperature  _down_  by pulling the arrow  _down_ away from the  _red_  and towards the  _blue_.

              Fayt just signed and reached forward to touch the holographic screen, sliding the temperature arrow down. “Blue is cool, Albel.” A puff of refreshing cool air blew out of the ait vents.

              Albel scoffed. “How ridiculous. Everyone knows that up is north on a map, which is cooler.”

              He did have a backwards kind of logic; Fayt did have to give him that.

              “What were you doing, anyway?” Fayt asked. “If you want to change the temperature, all you had to do was ask.” As soon as he said it, Fayt realized his mistake. Albel would never ask for help, even if he were dying of heat stroke in his bedroom.

              Albel snorted. “I wasn't trying to change the temperature, you fool.” And as Fayt considered it, he wasn't sure if Albel had even been aware that you could. “I was  _trying_  to do some research.”

              That piqued Fayt's curiosity. “Oh? What on?”

              “This ship. Aliens. Your... technology. I'd be an idiot not to get into a battle knowing nothing about my enemies or my allies.” Albel seemed more than a little sullen; Fayt began to realize that for the last week or so Albel had been feeding on nothing but bitter humble pie. Never mind the bidet; he didn't know a damn thing about where Fayt had come from other than 'outer space' and probably didn't even have a clear concept of what 'outer space' was. Until last week, he'd thought his planet was flat, and had gotten into an extended (and completely hilarious) argument about it with Cliff.

              “First, you should probably learn how to use a computer.” Fayt reached forward and shoved all of the windows Albel had opened to the side, and pointed to a blue icon in the corner. “See this? This is a universal search. It will look for anything in this ship's database or online.” Fayt pressed the button and brought up a dialogue box. “This button,” he gestured to a physical button at the bottom of the console, “Toggles the keyboard.” He pressed it, and a keyboard shot out, making Albel jump a little. “Type out any word you want and you can find information on it, and then press this button.” Fayt pointed to the 'Enter' key.

              Albel proceeded to hunt-and-peck slower than Fayt had ever seen anyone do in his life, and Fayt had to suppress his instinctive reaction to slap aside Albel's hands and type himself. His brief flash of typist's rage swiftly turned into embarrassment as he saw what Albel was typing out. 'F-A-Y-T L-E-I-N-G-O-D.' Enter.

              Fayt blushed. “You're only going to get my student profile and my accounts on some networking sites. And those are private-locked, anyway.”

              Sure enough, the first result was Fayt's student profile, but Albel clicked on it anyway and began reading the contents. Name, age, major, school year. Clubs and affiliations. There had been an age where this sort of information was kept private to prevent identity theft, but these days all codes were genetically based. This kind of information would gain a criminal little, and most people didn't bother to lock it.

              “It's not that interesting,” Fayt mumbled.

              An awkward silence passed as Albel read the page. When he was done, he started a new search, this time for the name of Fayt's university. “This is your school?” He asked, gesturing to the image on the university's home page. “Aren't you too old to be going to school?”

              Fayt laughed. “You're never too old to learn.”

              “How long have you been going to school?” Albel countered. “Is that all you do, go to school?”

              Fayt considered. “Um... over ten years? Since I was a little kid. Everybody goes for at least twelve years if they want to get a good job. I've been thinking – was thinking of going to grad school, too. I'd probably stay there for at least another six years.”

              “You're a scholar.” Albel seemed a little astonished.

              “I've never thought of myself that way,” Fayt said, a little sheepish. “Didn't you ever have... a tutor of some kind as a kid?” Fayt threw his mind back to ancient history and civilizations studies. Albel had rank; he was probably born into it. He should have had some kind of private education.

              “Of course,” Albel waved a dismissive hand. “I was taught reading, history, basic maths and strategy. Boring as hell, but necessary to train out stupidity.”

              Fayt leaned back against the desk. “Strategy?”

              “Military strategy,” Albel spoke as if he were pointing out the obvious to a very stupid child. “How to win a battle, you twit.”

              Fayt rolled his eyes. “Thank you for your kind elucidation. Now tell me, Albel, how  _do_ you win a battle? I can't recall the last time I saw you do it.”

              Fayt wasn't expecting to get punched on the gut; he should have, and he figured he probably deserved it for that remark. “Hit the enemy when they aren't expecting it,” Albel grinned, and pulled his fist back as Fayt crumpled to his knees and attempted to get his wind back.

              “Touche.” Fayt wheezed.

              Albel looked down on the kneeling Fayt from his spinny chair like a king looking down on an ant from his throne. “Didn't you ever study strategy?” There was plenty of the usual scorn in his voice, but also an undertone of genuine curiosity.

              Fayt got his breath back and opted to sit down on his butt instead of trying to get up again. “Why would I? I'm not in the military.”

              “But you can fight. And you're a good leader.” High praise coming from Albel, and Fayt took it as such.

              Fayt shook his head. “I just play a lot of videogames. I never thought playing in the VR all the time would help me in real life.” He chuckled.

              “Video...games?” Albel was genuinely puzzled.

              “Uh...” Fayt scratched his head and tried to come up with the best way he could to explain it. “It's like virtual reality. You play at fighting monsters and stuff.”

              “That's just training.”

              Fayt shook his head. “No, it's different. It's –” The thought came to him. “You know what, I'm just gonna show you. Come with me.” He stood up and grabbed Albel's arm, something Albel would usually injure people for doing, but somehow Fayt got away with it.

              Fayt dragged Albel down to the holodeck, ignoring the swift scampering away of any ship personnel who caught a glimpse of Albel. He stepped into the room and activated the computer, setting up one of his favourite games at the panel. He avoided using voice controls; that was another thing that freaked Albel out to a high degree.

              Fayt was pretty high-leveled in this one, and he'd finished most of the story quests. “Pick a character,” he said absently as he began setting up a second character for Albel.

              “What?”

              Oh yeah. He was going to have to explain this, too.

              “A persona within the game. This one's role-playing, so you pick the identity of someone else. Someone you'd like to be. This one has emphasis on varying job classes, so you can pick anything from soldier, merchant, pirate, whatever you'd like.”

              “Why would I want to be someone else?”

              Fayt stopped in his tracks, turning away from the panel and towards Albel. The room always seemed so empty without the game's holographic projections in it, and Albel looked small inside it. That was a question regarding games Fayt wasn't often asked. Usually it was something like, “Why are you wasting so much time on those games?” or “Why don't you go with me to a cafe instead?” or whatnot.

              Fayt struggled to come up with his best answer, but it still felt lacking. “Because you spend all your time at school studying, so it relieves stress to get out of that and pretend you're a knight who's going to save the kingdom and beat up monsters.”

              Albel laughed, and hell if Fayt always thought his laughter more than a little creepy. “What, like me? Do you have a character in that game that's like me?”

              That one got to him. Fayt froze for a moment, unable to reply. He finally settled for an frank answer. “No. I always pick characters that are more heroic.”

              Albel was still chuckling, and he began strutting lazily about the room, drawing his sword and swinging at empty space like he was testing the room's boundaries. “A more heroic character? Of course you would. You'd pick a hero who wins a battle without killing a single soul. Or maybe he's fighting the armies of the demon lord, whose minions have no parents and no children and are simply soulless husks. His cause is always righteous. He'd never chose loyalty over 'doing what's right.' He has time to kiss all the babies of the kingdom before he goes off to do his duty.” Albel spat on the floor. “Don't make me sick.”

              “No,” Fayt snapped back. “Not every story has to be an assimilation of the oldest fantasy cliches in the book. There's plenty of realistic games where you're aware the enemy is human and the protagonist questions the morality of his actions.”

              “Oh, really?” Albel's voice was dripping sarcasm. “So this hero cries a bit before he goes and slaughters a legion of enemy soldiers? That makes him a hero?” He swatted at the air absently with his claw.

              Fayt gritted his teeth. Albel could go fuck himself on this one. “He's a hero because he wants to help people, and doesn't get off on causing pain for others.”

              Albel's chuckles faded into a bitter smile. “It doesn't matter whether you want to help people or if you enjoy it when both have the same body count.”

              “You're just using warped logic to justify your own sadism.”

              “Am I?” Albel made a strong, vertical slice in the air in front of him.

              “People with good intentions...” Fayt cut himself off. He was losing this argument.

              “People with good intentions start religious wars to 'save' the people. People with good intentions purge all the unclean people with faces of a different shape out of the kingdom to 'protect' everyone else.” Albel seemed to be done swinging his blade around; he sheathed it and turned back towards Fayt.

              “I'm not going to argue intention versus result with you, Albel.”

              “Because you know if it's result, you've killed more than I ever have.” Albel grinned, and it wasn't a nice one. He moved closer to Fayt, until they were only an arm's length apart. “You want to preserve your moral high ground? Pretend you're the good reasonable man come to tame the beast and teach him how to be human?” Albel drew in close to Fayt's side until his mouth was a hair's brush from Fayt's ear. “But you might find you're a beast as well,” he murmured before backing away, a brutal smile still on his face. He left Fayt alone in the room with the sinking feeling of the truth. 

 


End file.
